


Not Your Typical Villain

by RussianWitch



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barry Allen Is A Human Vibrator, Bottom Oliver Queen, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Predicament Bondage, Rimming, Sexual Roleplay, Teasing, не копировать
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 02:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20538587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: Oliver and Barry playing.Sometimes it takes a while for Oliver to let go.





	Not Your Typical Villain

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd

"Do you expect me to talk?" The Green Arrow growls pulling at the chains and bar holding him suspended right at the edge of the platform, muscles tight, fighting for balance so he doesn't go over the edge wrenching his arms out of their sockets. 

Sitting back, Barry admires the play of muscles in the Green Arrow's back, the way sweat makes all the muscle groups stand out, old scars making interesting patterns as Oliver twists and turns.

"No, Mr. Queen, I expect you to beg," Barry drawls, swallowing a snicker.

He bites his lip digging his hands into the armrests of the chair.

As much as he wants to go over and touch Oliver—it isn't time yet.

If Oliver can still ask questions, it's too early, he isn't ready yet.

Taking out his phone, he pulls up an app and taps it twice.

Gears squeak and rattle, the chains tightening forcing Oliver further onto his toes. 

Barry taps another control, and Oliver curses arching his back to keep from tumbling off the edge as the pulleys move another inch forward making balancing harder.

"I.Don't.Beg!" Oliver says, grunts rather, balancing taking most of his concentration.

Giving in to the urge to touch, Barry speeds over to his captive, running his hand across the unnaturally curved spine before darting out of reach once again as Oliver shudders and tries to kick like a startled horse.

"That's what they all say," Barry teases, watching Oliver fight to regain his balance, "I've got all the time in the world to change your mind." 

He darts closer again running his fingers over Oliver's ribs, the barely-there touch making the vigilantly squirm and grit his teeth.

"Big, bad Green Arrow is ticklish, who would have thought?" Barry chuckles as Oliver lets out something that sounds an awful lot like a swallowed gasp. 

He lets the bound man catch his breath for a second stepping back to admire the view once again enjoying the way the leather cups Oliver's ass. Sure it's going to look better bare, Barry hooks his fingers into the belt loops of Oliver's pants ignoring the bound man's gasp when he phases the pants off of him leaving Green Arrow only in his boots.

"I know it feels weird," Barry says leaning against his prisoner's back, nipping his way along a powerful shoulder, "take a moment to process." 

He runs his hands over Oliver's back, tracing scars and tattoos as Oliver pants digesting the reality of something having gone through him on a molecular level.

There are no scars on Oliver's ass, no tan lines either to Barry's amusement.

Dropping to his knees, Barry nuzzles at a muscular ass cheek feeling it flex as Oliver has to compensate to keep his balance.

Oliver's scream echoes around the warehouse when Barry's tongue pushes into his ass vibrating fast enough to set all of the prisoner's nerves on fire. He jerks in his bonds swinging out over the abyss before regaining his footing. His arms and shoulders burn, the danger of wrenching them out of their sockets ever-present. 

"Careful," Barry singsongs against the small of Oliver's back, "wouldn't want to end the fun prematurely." His hands roam Oliver's hips and thighs, tickling along Oliver's ribs and making thinking difficult.

Sometimes he still finds it hard to believe he's allowed to touch, allowed—a lot of things. 

His distraction almost costs him, Oliver kicks out again and if it wasn't for Barry's speed, he'd certainly have a broken leg.

"That's not very nice," he says mildly, waiting for Oliver to stop swinging before slapping him sharply on the ass, "and kind of indicative of your problem, you know. You'll practically beg to be hurt, but if something feels good..."

He speeds away hunting down the thing he needs.

Oliver curses twisting in his bonds when he realizes his legs are locked to a spreader bar making kicking—difficult.

Barry is pretty sure Oliver's muscles must be protesting by now, sweat makes his skin shine, turns him into art.

"I could keep you like this, you know," Barry says raking his nails down Oliver's back, "my personal decoration I'd be able to take with me wherever I go," he leans on Oliver's back, reaching around to find a nipple to pinch by feel.

"Barry!" Oliver growls, a wounded animal warning off an attacker. 

Barry ignores him, twisting the nub until he feels the bound man squirm.

"That's not what I want to hear," he reminds Oliver, giving in to the urge to taste the sweat on Oliver's skin. He trails his finger down the valley between muscular ass cheeks letting it vibrate as it skims over Oliver's hole.

"Barry, for fuck's sake!" Oliver pushes back into the digit or tries to, not that Barry allows it.

He runs his vibrating fingers along the hip towards the cut v of muscle that leads his hand towards Oliver's crotch.

"Rude," Barry chides, slapping Oliver's ass.

A tortured moan escapes the bound man, and Barry wonders if it's because of the slap, or the loss of the fingers teasing Oliver's ass.

"Just fuck me!" Oliver demands in a tone that doesn't broker disobedience, except that it does now. 

Barry rakes a sharp nail along the underside of Oliver's dick flicking the head and revels in the surprised gasp.

"Say the magic word," he demands.

Oliver makes a sound that isn't quite human, strains once again in his bonds swinging himself off the edge of the platform once again and slumps in his bonds.

The "please" that escapes Oliver is more breath than sound. If Barry wasn't as close as he is, he wouldn't have heard it. 

It's not quite what he wants, but far more than Barry expected to get. He slips his fingers between Oliver's cheeks once again, pushes them into Oliver's body and gives his prostate a rub.

"Please!" Oliver grates, this time a little more audible, breath hitching when Barry presses a little harder in reward, "fucking me, fuck me, fuck…" 

Releasing the chain that holds Oliver suspended and removing the spreader bar from Oliver's legs costs Barry less than a second, he's back to catch him before the bound man manages to topple over into the void. Barry doesn't bother undoing the rest of the restraints, just drags Oliver over to the pallet made up with blankets and mats. 

Oliver doesn't fight him. Sprawling where he was dropped, panting as his muscles protest the strain they've been put under, he watches Barry undress getting a foot stuck in a trouser leg in his enthusiasm.

He drops between Oliver's legs, groping his way up the muscular thighs pressing them open to make room for himself. 

Oliver moans as he's exposed but doesn't even protest. He watches Barry with hazy eyes gasping prettily as lube slicked fingers circle his hole.

"You're cute like this," Barry mutters leaning down to lick the sweat off Oliver's abs, fucking him slowly with his fingers, "I want to keep you like, at my mercy, hot and pliant just for me, eager for a fucking." 

Oliver tries to glare, but Barry's fingers find his prostate and he's left biting back a sob of need.

"All mine," Barry finishes, substituting his fingers with his dick.

He swallows his own sob at the feeling of Oliver hot and tight around him, distracting enough that Barry has to bite his lip and look away, think of math equations.

"Barry—please," Oliver moans, "move!" He growls, teeth bared, eyes flashing, tightening around Barry, locking his legs behind his back.

"No," he answers, running his hands up Oliver's body to wrap them around Oliver's throat.

He doesn't squeeze, doesn't need to, that's not what Oliver needs.

"You feel so good, Olly," Barry purrs bending down to pepper the archer's chest with kisses, licking at a tight nipple until Oliver is trembling under him, frustrated tears running down his cheeks.

"You've been so good for me today," he mumbles around the tight nipple he's tormenting, "and good boys get rewarded!"

Fucking into Oliver, moving is a relief.   
He still takes it slow, enjoying the little gasp whine as Oliver fights the urge to demand Barry go faster. It's torture for both of them, pleasurable torture, Barry does the best he can to drag out.

Oliver's legs lock behind his back pulling him closer, trapping him, not that Barry is objecting. 

He doesn't realize he's started vibrating again until a moan tears from Oliver's throat followed by another and another and Barry realizes it's his name Oliver is moaning, finally mindless with need, his dick a painful curve drooling on his chiseled abs with every one of Barry's thrusts.

"Come for me, Olly," Barry command, barely holding off his own orgasm, "show me how much you like getting fucked like a little slut." 

He vibrates harder, and with a broken scream Oliver comes untouched and finally, Barry can let go too, thrust as deep as he can and spill into Oliver's body leaving welts on the archer's thighs with his nails. 

Barry crashes onto Oliver's body, eliciting a whimper from Oliver as his tender dick is crushed between them.

Oliver is still coming, shivering as pleasure and pain rake his body and fogging his mind.

"Good boy," Barry slurs, grazing his teeth over Oliver's collar bone with his last bit of strength.


End file.
